The two brutes, fists at the ready like boxers, were closing. Valens had no room to manoeuvre. Hades, I am not going to take a beating from the likes of these common swine. He yanked out his knife.

His assailants gave a pace.

‘Not so brave now,’ Valens panted.

The ruffians glanced at each other. The hirsute one shrugged.

‘Your decision,’ the other said to Valens.

Both drew their knives, dropped into a trained fighting crouch.

Be a man, Valens thought. Nowhere to run. Just be a man.

The yellow and green striped trousers were a blur of colour as the bald man crossed the room. For all his bulk, he moved soundlessly, with the grace of a dancer. The thugs did not hear him coming. Massive hands took them by the scruff of the neck. There was a sickening crack as their heads were slammed together. Then, as if they were no more than child’s toys, the brightly dressed stranger tossed them both aside.

‘You are fucking insane, Iudex,’ the long-faced man shouted from where he had landed half under a table.

‘And you are a thief, Zabda.’ The man smoothed his blue tunic. ‘The opinions of others are crosses we must all carry.’

Both ruffians began to scramble to get up.

The gigantic figure wagged a finger.

The men stopped.

‘Zabda, give the officer back his wallet.’

Slowly, with the utmost reluctance, the long-faced man picked himself up, then tossed the leather bag at the feet of Valens.

‘Now leave.’

Sheathing their knives, the two shuffled out of the bar. ‘Fucking madman,’ one muttered.

The oddly garbed man took Valens by the shoulders, sat him on a bench. The big hands checked him over, solicitously, like a mother with her son.

‘You will have a black eye, but your nose is not even broken.’

The man bent and scooped up the wallet, handed it over.

Valens took it dumbly.

‘You must forgive them.’ The cherubic face beamed. ‘They are unenlightened. It was their idea of playing a joke on our new officer.’

‘You mean they are . . .’ Valens did not say the word.

‘I am afraid so. Our profession calls for the crudest of recruits.’

‘And the stevedores?’

‘As far as I know, they were just stevedores.’ The grey eyes smiled. ‘Come, Marcus Aelius Valens, let me take you to your lodgings around the corner. We must be on parade early tomorrow.’

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The Euphrates

VALENS WALKED UP THROUGH THE streets of the town. It was the second hour of daylight. This early it was no hotter than a spring day in Rome, yet Valens was sweating, and his head ached. He was unsure how much of the pain was due to the wine, how much to the fight. The barber who had shaved him had commented on his black eye.